


What the fuck do I care? (A little too much and not nearly enough)

by mortysmithh



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: ??????????, Depression, Fluff, Incest, M/M, Scars, Suicide Attempt, Uhhh fuck what do I tag this as
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 15:11:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7762681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mortysmithh/pseuds/mortysmithh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>IIIIIIIIIIII really don't know<br/>This turned into a vent fic 0-100 real quick rest in peace @ my ability to write well<br/>Basically Morty's depressed and taking Prozac fucks him over and nobody in the family wants to deal with it/knows how to deal with it and they never see him anyways<br/>Rick sees him and it just kinda goes down (up?) hill from there</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Morty's gay and so is Rick

It’s been nearly 3 months of Morty Smith being on Prozac. At first, it had helped with his anxiety; no more sweaty palms, no more stomachaches, no more being nearly in tears every time the teacher had called on him in school. 

And then he’d been expelled for trying to kill himself with a laser gun and a blade sharp enough to cut through solid steel. Rick, of course, had nursed him back to health, but as soon as Morty was healed enough to walk around and get his own food, Rick had moved the teen back to his own bedroom, knowing that the kid would probably just want his own personal space again.

How wrong he’d been, and how right he’d been.

Without Rick forcing him to eat and drink, Morty had slowly started wasting away. Hair greasy and frazzled, his face gaunt and sunken-in, his voice quiet and raspy from the constant shrieking during the nightmares that plague him every night. 

Beth had stopped trying to get into his room, jiggling the locked doorknob just once before walking away to let Morty solve his own problems. Jerry thought that maybe Morty was just sick, maybe Morty wanted some alone time, after weeks and weeks of the teen never once leaving his room. Even Summer had stopped; in due time, maybe her little brother would come around. Wishful thinking, but she knew that she’d never be able to get through to Morty. Not after so long without talking.

But when Morty comes out, looking like hell had gone through hell, and then once more, and he runs facefirst into Rick’s chest and Rick has to stop himself from cringing at Morty’s filthiness and the deadened look in his soft, doe-brown eyes, Rick can’t ignore his gut feeling anymore. 

He doesn’t let his grandson run off like the scared 13 year-old he so much resembles, he doesn’t let go of the kid. All he does is wrap his arms around Morty’s too-thin frame, and hug him as hard as he can without worrying for the teen’s bones cracking. And he keeps his grip as he lets go, his large, rough hands enveloping Morty’s much smaller, softer, thinner hands as he looks Morty straight in the eye.    
  
“Everything will be okay.” 

And then Morty Smith of dimension C-237 breaks down in his grandfather’s arms, tears leaking from his red, tired-looking eyes as he sags against the taller man’s frame. His arms cling to Rick’s waist, and they pinch as they dig into the old man’s hips because Rick Sanchez is not a fat man, he could even be considered skinnier than what he should be, but Morty’s fingers are so thin and bony that they hurt even Rick.

It hurts more that he’s let the kid get to a state like this than any physical damage Morty could do to him. 

And so it begins. Rick quits getting wasted, the only alcohol he consumes being the occasional sip from his mysterious flask, but even those sips are rare and he finds himself forgetting it more and more often in the garage.

The only important thing in his life right now is working to help Morty. The first thing he does is make the kid take a shower, and he goes in with Morty, planning to just help scrub his back and any unreachable places, but the kid blushes, crosses his arms over visible ribs and tears up as he whispers, “D-Don’t- Don’t look at me, Rick,  _ please _ .” 

At that, Rick doesn’t say anything. Instead, he starts stripping, pausing to let Morty examine his incredibly flawed body. Scars, thick and white and pink and red and purple, raised, textured, some new, some old, some so faded they almost look like mere ripples as opposed to the huge tears that others must’ve started out as. And as he strips, he explains each and every one. That one was his first barfight, this one’s the time he tripped over an invention and fell onto a shattered vodka bottle, the one on his left arm is the time he thought everything was over and that he didn’t matter. 

He steps into the shower with Morty, giving the kid a small, sad smile. “I-I- I know what you’re goin’ through, Morty, an- and trust me, it’s a shitty existence right now, but- but you’re gonna grow up, an- and do great things. Don’t- Don’t let that die just ‘cause people are too stupid to realize that a-about you, alright, Morty?” He expects Morty to return the smile, he expects Morty to look up at him with that adoring gaze he’d missed so much, but what he doesn’t expect is for the teen to pull him down by the neck and give him a kiss. 

Messy and wet and full of adoration that nearly matches the definition of worship, Morty Smith kisses his grandfather in the shower, tears streaming down his face as he pulls away and scrubs at his eyes in a desperate attempt to not make eye contact with Rick. 

It takes him by surprise, but he doesn’t react negatively. If this is what Morty wants, what Morty needs to calm down and start being himself again, then goddammit he’s going to play along, even if the thought of this just being a phase breaks his heart nearly as much as it had been when he’d first seen Morty start to deteriorate. 


	2. Gay? Gay.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick and Morty, 100 years Rick and Morty.

It’s been about a week or so since the first time Rick and Morty showered together. Seven days since the lovestruck teen had leaned up and kissed his grandfather in the shower, standing there and only pausing in the kiss to wrap shaky, emaciated arms around Rick’s waist, tensed up as if expecting to be shoved away or slapped.

Rick would be lying if he told himself he didn’t miss the kiss as soon as it had ended, but they had needed to clean up. The old man had been out collecting materials all day before he’d gone up to talk to Morty, and it showed in the dust permeating his clothing and the grease and sweat and grime covering his entire body. Not to mention how badly Morty had needed a shower; after some gentle questioning, Rick had found out that Morty hadn’t showered in nearly two full months, relying on baby wipes and dirty laundry to wipe himself off if he happened to get into anything particularly messy.

The most difficult step was to force himself to feel like he’s not a disgusting old man for indulging Morty’s puppy crush.

_ ‘Because there’s no way in hell that he would legitimately want to be with an old drunk like you.’ _

The second most difficult step is getting the kid to eat on a semi-regular basis. But Rick Sanchez, ex party addict, knows damn well how to get someone back on a meal schedule, and starts visiting Morty every single mealtime. He hates how uncomfortable the teen looks whenever he gives Morty a firm look, holding out a plate with delicious food cooked by Rick Sanchez himself, but he needs to know that Morty’s actually going to eat it.  _ All  _ of it.

And eventually, it fades. Morty stops resisting as much, stops tearing up and looking away, ashamed as all hell, as he quite ravenously scarfs the food down. He even makes a pig joke at one point, though Rick is quick to shut that down, peppering the brunet’s cheeks and throat with gentle butterfly kisses while wrinkled hands run through his hair, soft whispers of ‘you don’t deserve those thoughts, Morty. Eat to spite them.’ and Morty tears up again but it’s out of gratitude this time.

It jars Rick just how much Morty’s changed in the month and a half he’s been cooped up in his room. He had forgotten what it was like to see somebody without their own support, somebody that needed to depend on somebody so badly because they couldn’t give a damn about themselves anymore.

He feels that sharp, dull  _ pang _ in his chest again, but luckily, Morty’s soft voice pulls him out of the black hole of his mind.

“R-Rick? I, uh...can I- can I kiss you?” 

The question hits him hard, surprises him immensely because Rick had assumed that it was certainly a one time thing.

But the look on Morty’s face - open, scared, all too breakable and cheeks still flushed pink from Rick’s affections - snaps him out of the shock the question had sent him into. A grey hand goes up to rub at the back of his neck, looking a little awkward all of a sudden because this time he has a choice, he can say no and try to preserve the teen’s innocence, try to push down the sickness welling up inside of both of them, or he can say yes and allow them both to have what they so desperately want.

Without a word, Rick nods, lips pursing as his eyes drop to Morty’s own plump, slick ones. 

The kiss tastes like mac and cheese, like innocence and the slightest hint of a happy smile as Morty’s lips curve upwards even as they move with Rick’s rougher mouth. Rick exhales, heavy and smooth as his hands move to Morty’s wrists, rubbing gently at the scars he knows are there before placing them on his hips, gnarled knuckles covering Morty’s on old, boney hips. There’s relief in the sigh, relief because he thought that first kiss was also the last kiss he’d ever get to have with Morty, and it’s disappointment in himself for not being able to resist, and it’s  _ joy _ because Morty wants this, he  _ wants _ to do this with Rick and he’s  _ enjoying  _ it, if the soft whines and excited quivers are anything to go by.

A soft grunt leaves the teen and Rick’s eyes snap back open, worry creasing his brow. Did he take it too far? Should they stop?

He breaks the kiss and only gets out ‘are you o-’ before Morty climbs up into his lap, thin (but slightly more filled out) thighs wrapping around Rick’s waist and damp lips pressing up against Rick’s once again. From this position, Morty’s much more free to let his hands roam, touching Rick everywhere. His chest, his sides, his waist and the dips that his hipbones cause. Small hands creep up underneath the old man’s shirt, grazing just barely over his nipples so that he can play with wiry strands of sky-blue hair, palms resting flat against Rick’s chest for a moment so that he can break the kiss and gaze up at his grandfather as if he’s the only thing in this universe that matters.

Rick feels something inside him break at the look, and without another word, he’s the one that initiates the kiss this time, leans down to catch soft lips in his own drool-coated ones with all the gentle affection that Morty never thought a Rick,  _ his Rick _ could be capable of.

However, Morty pulls away again, breaks the kiss and speaks before Rick can worriedly ask whether they should stop or not. “I love you, grandpa Rick. I...I-I think, I think I can stay like this. With you. I want to stay with you. You make me...happy. You make me feel alive. Like I should be alive, and like I enjoy being alive. You make life good, Rick,” he says with an honest little smile, cheeks flushed and lips swollen and red from the rather intense makeout session. 

That pang in his chest hits again, though this time it’s an explosion of warmth instead of pain and regret. 

All of the good emotions he feels for the teen, all the good he’s  _ ever _ felt for Morty, swells up through his chest and leaves him in the form of an uncharacteristically large, genuine grin and a happy laugh. “I love you too, Morty. God, fuck, I- I love you so  _ fucking _ much,” he says, sighing softly and resting his face against his grandson’s shoulder. “I’d love to stay with you and live a good life with you, Morty. I’d love that. I love  _ you _ , y-you- you sappy little shit.” 

The relationship won’t be perfect. They’ll have to hide, make up lies, find ways to avoid the others freaking out once they realize Morty’s no longer locked up in his room, and sit the family down to explain that they absolutely should  _ not _ make a big deal about anything new about Morty.

But...they make each other happy, and all Rick wants is to make Morty happy, to see him happy and to see him love and appreciate and grow and experience life as fully as a teen like him deserves to. All Morty wants is Rick, to see that happy smile again, to see the wrinkles in the corners of his eyes not because of his frowning or his anger or his frantic yelling, but because of laughter and because Morty told him a funny joke, because he loves Morty and loves being alive with Morty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this seems kind of rushed!! I ended it best as I could, I just,,,didn't really know how else to end this thing y'know?? But yeah, my Tumblr's mortysmithh and I take requests!! Or just talk to me about this ship gOD I love these two idiots so fucking much

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr's mortysmithh, send me RickMorty fic ideas/prompts!! 
> 
> Leave a comment/Kudos if you'd like to <33
> 
> (P.S. I'm always down to discuss ships, so even if you don't have a prompt, hit me up!!)


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